


A Race, A Bottle, A Kiss

by Again_n_Again



Category: Raven Cycle - Maggie Stiefvater
Genre: Angst and Fluff and Smut, Car Sex, M/M, Racing, You get the idea, boys being bad
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-25
Updated: 2015-11-25
Packaged: 2018-05-03 08:46:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,635
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5284304
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Again_n_Again/pseuds/Again_n_Again
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>I needed more Kavinsky/ Lynch fic, so I decided to write it myself. <br/>Nothing too much here, just some good ol, boys being bad and sexy and in lust.  </p><p> </p><p>"Crushed and broken," Gansey said. "Just the way women like 'em.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Race, A Bottle, A Kiss

There was a race.  There was a bottle.  There was a kiss.

Ronan was wrecked.  He was just starting to remember the night.  The grass was wet under his skin, and the uneven earth dug into his shoulder blades uncomfortably.  How long had he been laying here in this field, he wondered.  There was a shuffling noise somewhere out of his sight, but he couldn’t move his body yet.  His limbs were anchors weighing him to the ground and he couldn’t move.  Panic rose in him like bile.  He fidgeted trying to find purchase in the grass, trying to pull himself back into control of his own body.

“That’ll wear off soon enough.”  A voice said.  It sounded heavy and sad, and Ronan knew who was speaking immediately.  Kavinsky walked into Ronan’s line of sight, and stood over Ronan who still lay paralyzed in the grass; he was sprawled out, bare chested, an undignified lump of limbs.  Kavinsky just stared at him, looking him straight in the eye.

“It always lasts longest your first time.  You eventually get used to it.”

Ronan tried not to let his fear show on his face, but being so vulnerable on his back with a boy like Kavinsky standing over him, made his skin crawl.  He didn’t like being vulnerable, and he trusted Kavinsky even less than he could throw him.

Ronan, through no less than a herculean effort on his part, was able to hitch his left knee up towards his chest.

Kavinsky watched the movement, looking momentarily impressed, but then a veil of disinterest quickly replaced it. 

“Relax, Lynch.  No one’s going to find you out here.  No one will know.” Kavinsky pulled on his shirt that had been balled in his fist, and sniffed as he rubbed a hand roughly under his nose.

 _No one will know._   Those last words were pulling an image to Ronan’s mind.  There was something there, but his brain was still to cloudy to grasp hold of it.

Ronan couldn’t pull his eyes away from Kavinsky’s blown out gaze.  He wished he could say something scathing or sarcastic, but the words didn’t come.  He felt as if he probably could talk, but his usual venomous jabs were lost somewhere in the back of his throat, along with his heart (it was beating uncontrollably fast).

Something in Kavinsky’s eyes was worrisome.  He looked pained, enraged, like, he was trying to strip Ronan down with nothing but his eyes.  Kavinsky was drowning in front of him and Ronan couldn’t understand why - but he felt like he should know. 

Then Kavinsky looked away, his eyes darting quickly to the ground.  With one foot he kicked Ronan’s knee back down to the grass; it wasn’t a hard kick, but it wasn’t particularly light either.

He turned his back and started walking away.  “See ya later, Lynch.”  He didn’t look back again.

 

Ronan lay in the grass, his heart thumping wildly.  He still couldn’t lift his head, but with Kavinsky out of sight, and with the clear night sky above him, flickering lights of silver, he was able to clear his mind, and try to figure out just what the fuck he was doing here. 

He started piecing it together with the first thing he remembered.  Looking for a race

 

 

Ronan was out driving like most nights, but unlike most nights he found Skov waiting at a deserted crossroad, old hanging streetlights lights flashing yellow on all sides.  Ronan pulled up to him, window rolled down, already amped to hit the gas and smoke him, but Skov just smiled at him. It was a lazy smile, like Ronan already gave him what he was looking for.  His beefy arm hung out the driver side window as if he’d been there for days, just waiting. 

“Lynch!” He said, smiling in a way that didn’t look 100% natural on his broad face.  “Was hoping you’d show up tonight!”

“Oh really?  And why is that?” Ronan asked.

“We’re one player short tonight.  You want in?”

Ronan wasn’t sure what the “game” was that Skov needed another player for, but he was sure it wouldn’t be anything good.  He desperately wanted in.

Skov watched the crooked smile spread over Ronan’s sharp features and he shook his head back and forth, looking amused.

 He jutted his chin out toward Ronan, his lips making a thin tight line before saying: “K said you’d want in.  No one believed him though.”

That caught Ronan off guard.  Had Kavinsky sent Skov out looking for him?  He guessed not ever answering his phone made other forms of contact impossible… _still_.  Anticipation tightened in his gut. 

“SO?”  Ronan yelled over the roar of the engine as he revved the BMW, impatient. 

Skov just scoffed, twisting his wrist and pointing his index finger forward toward the open road.

“Follow me.  If you can keep up.”

Skov peeled away from the light and Ronan followed.  He could have easily passed him but he needed to follow to know where they were going.  He hated driving behind another car, but tried to appreciate that at least Skov drove fast and never used a turn signal.  At least that kept things interesting. 

When they pulled into the field lined with cars and lit only with headlights and a couple cell phone flashlights, Ronan noticed Kavinsky right away, not by his face, but by his silhouette.  He was lit from behind by a dozen car headlights and he appeared as a raggedy, all black statue.  He was eerily graceful; a reaper in white shades.  Ronan got out of his car and followed Skov up to Kavinsky.  Now that Ronan’s eyes adjusted he could see that Kavinsky was counting bills, a large wad in his hand made mostly of twenties and fifties.  He looked acutely stoned, but never swayed on his feet. 

Ronan shoved his hands in his pockets and tried to take in the scene around him.  The smell was magnificent, all weedy grass, exhaust, and overpriced cologne.  Ronan breathed it in, his heart kicking up a beat.  Kavinsky looked at him, a small quirk forming at the side of his lips. 

“Skov!  You bastard!  You brought a date!”

Skov, just gave Kavinsky the finger and then skulked off towards the action at the other end of the field, leaving Ronan alone with Kavinsky.

“The fuck is this?”  Ronan asked.

Kavinsky’s mouth drew into a broad smile.

“Somehow, I knew this would be your scene. “

Ronan poured as much sarcasm as he could into his words, when he said: “What?  Cars and money?  Good guess Sherlock.”

“And darkness.  And dudes.”  Kavinsky finished.

Ronan just started walking across the field towards the action. 

Before he knew it Kavinsky was beside him again, pressing a flask into his hand.  It was a cool night, and the bottle was hot, like it had been kept inside Kavinsky’s pants pocket.  Ronan didn’t like the fact that he’d noticed.  He took a long pull and the liquid burned agonizingly hot down his throat.  Kavinsky must’ve known what it would do because he stopped to watch Ronan’s reaction to it.

Ronan didn’t cough or choke, but he did have to stop for a second and beat a fist against his chest. 

“Good shit, right there.”  Kavinsky said, looking pleased that even Ronan was affected by it.

“What the fuck man!  What the hell was that?”

“Oh, just a little something I _brewed_ up myself.  Just you wait.”  Kavinsky held out his hand to take the bottle back.  But there was something in the way that he spoke that sent a flutter of nervousness and excitement through Ronan.  He didn’t doubt Kavinsky would be in possession of something stronger than Ronan had ever tasted, but he also was never able to back down from what seemed like a dare. Ronan braced himself and took another long pull from the flask.  Kavinsky laughed, high and excitedly, shaking his head, before ripping the bottle from Ronan’s hands. 

“Not too much…you’ll be on your fucking face before the fun even starts.”  Then he tucked the flask back in his back pocket.  Ronan followed Kavinsky’s hands and watched the flask disappear into the denim.

They were playing automotive chicken again, but this time it looked like high stakes bets were being placed.

Ronan watched, mesmerized as cars squealed, boys cheered, and metal was crunched into pointed folds.  He was starting to feel something creep into his skin though.  It wasn’t exactly like it felt to be drunk, he’d know that feeling anywhere, but more like he was shedding his own skin, like he was coming alive all over again.  His skin prickled and his fingers ached to be busy.  Kavinsky laughed again when he caught Ronan mindlessly tapping his foot on the ground. 

“It only gets worse, baby doll.”  Kavinsky whispered into his ear.  He was too close.  Ronan thought to push him away, but instead he grabbed his wrist.  He wasn’t sure why he did it.  He looked down at his hand, in disbelief, and that back up to Kavinsky’s face, only a couple inches from his own, he was grinning like a demon. 

“I want in.”  Ronan said.

“I bet you do.”  Kavinsky purred.

Ronan did push him away then, shaking his head.  “ I want to bet.  I want to play.”

“Sure thing!  $300.00 minimum!”  Kavinsky barked.

Then Ronan cursed. “Fuck.” He hissed through his teeth, jaw clenched.  “I’m not carrying cash.”

Ronan was good for the money, but he hadn’t expected to need a wad of cash tonight.  He felt desperate.  His body was aching and restless, and _WHAT THE FUCK DID KAVINSKY GIVE HIM TO DRINK_...he wanted to scream.  Could he make it back to Monmouth and back in time to get in on it?  No.  That would take forever, and Gansey would surely have questions to delay him, and _FUCK!_   He needed this now. 

Kavinsky watched Ronan’s internal struggle with mild humor and then licked his fingers before counting out $300 and shoving it into Ronan’s hand. 

“You owe me.”  He said with a wink.

Ronan looked at the cash in his hand and then smiled back at Kavinsky.  His body pulsed with the beat of the night.

 

Ronan got behind the wheel of a decent WRX and adjusted the seat.  He had no idea whose car this was, but he didn’t care.  He was told to get in, so he did.   He gripped the wheel and waited.  He felt like he should be shaking, like he should be vibrating, but his hands were steady.  Was this the anticipation of a race?  Of doing something so dangerous, or was it the drink?  Or something else?  Ronan wasn’t sure, and he didn’t feel like analyzing it.  He just wanted to ride it out - to _feel_ it.

Just then Kavinsky crawled in through the open passenger side window.  His body slithered in like a snake, like he was made of nothing but sinewy muscle and glowing skin. 

“What the hell are you doing?” Ronan asked, displeased for the distraction.

“Making sure you don’t fuck this up.”  Kavinsky said, pulling his white framed glasses over his eyes.

“I’m not stopping.” Ronan said, making his point clear.  He felt dangerous and wild, and fear would have no place in his heart tonight.  He wouldn’t pull away.  He wanted to let Kavinsky know that there was a lethal risk in that.

“I know.”  Kavinsky said.  “I never bet on a looser.  I _always_ win.” 

Ronan smiled.  Kavinsky smiled back.  It felt like a dream.  All of this.  It was too loud and fast and impossibly exciting.  Someone fired a shot in the air, and Ronan took off. 

Adrenaline coursed through his body, water through a broken dam.  It was so much more intense than a normal race.  This was something else entirely.  Something new and dangerous.  Maybe because he knew he wouldn’t be the one to stop.  He wouldn’t stop tonight.  Kavinsky knew it too, and let out an enraptured howl.  Maybe all the other boys knew it as well…who else would be crazy enough to doubt Ronan and Kavinsky together…the most insane of them all - beasts of boys.  All of them must know…and that’s why, at the last second the other car swerved violently to the left.  Ronan drove straight, never hitting the break, just increasing the speed.  The car bounced aggressively over mounds of uneven earth and in the background he heard the sound of a crash.  The other car must have not been able to stop before the tree line.  They were far into the field when Ronan finally stopped the car, sliding to a messy stop in the high grass, laughing and breathing heavy.  There were no lights out here.  Nothing.  Just them. 

Ronan let out a joyful “WOO DAMN!”  And then a mouth closed over his lips.

Kavinsky’s hand was pressing down on Ronan’s thigh, and his tongue was parting his lips.  In some small part of Ronan’s brain he wondered if he should push him away, wondered if he should break his nose.  But a much larger part of his brain was chanting _Thank Fucking God!_

Ronan needed to be touched.  There was too much energy in him, it was only made worse by the race, so much worse…but now Kavinsky hands and mouth seemed like they were desperate to pull that energy out of him.  Ronan pushed back, he grabbed the back of Kavinsky’s head and dove his tongue deeper into his mouth.  Kavinsky moaned against him.  Ronan’s body was still humming.  He felt alien in his own skin.  He felt like a God.  He pushed Kavinsky back so hard that his back and head hit against the passenger side door.  Ronan was on top of him, leaning over the middle of the car to find purchase.

“Get your fucking hands on me, Lynch.”  Kavinsky ordered.  Ronan hiked his shirt up, feeling the way his hip bones just barely held up his pants, and bit his neck for good measure.

Kavinsky tugged at Ronan’s belt and Ronan couldn’t help the strangled noise that escaped between their lips.

Kavinsky just smiled against him.  He undid the top bottom, and roughly shoved his hand down Ronan’s pants to find his prize.  Ronan shuttered and almost fell on top of Kavinsky with the relief of it.

“You’re too emotional, Lynch.”

“Fuck you.  Russian.”

“Here’s hoping.”  Kavinsky replied, and something dark and needy rose up in Ronan.

“Get in the back seat.”  Ronan ordered. 

Obediently, Kavinsky crawled through to the back seat.  Sitting in the back he stared at Ronan as he undid his own pants, slid them down to his knees, and started stroking himself.  Ronan’s eyes were  pits.  He couldn’t look away.  He’d never seen anything like this.  Didn’t know anyone could be so unashamed, so fearless; give so little fucks about anything.  Ronan adored and envied it.

He flung open his door and in two steps had the back door open and was once again upon Kavinsky.  Their mouths found each other and their hands worked together to find relief.   Ronan was lost in feeling, but Kavinsky was getting impatient.  His body arched and bit at Ronan.  His teeth digging deeper and deeper in.

“Ronan...”  He growled.  “This isn’t enough.”

Ronan agreed.  He needed to be closer, he needed more.  His body was on fire…but what else was there?

“Lynch!”  Kavinsky said, biting Ronan’s lip hard, to get his attention.

“God dammit!  What?”  Ronan hissed.

 “Are you going to fuck me or not?”

Kavinsky could have just slapped him.  It hadn’t really occurred to Ronan that it was a real possibility.  He’d had dreams before…dreams he’d pushed down, but this!  Now?

Kavinsky was writhing beneath him, and Ronan’s body definitely wanted it. 

Then Kavinsky pushed him off and away so that Ronan was now sitting on his heels half hanging out the back door.  Maybe Kavinsky could see the hesitation there, but if he did, he didn’t slow down.  Kavinsky just grabbed Ronan’s cock in his hand and then leaned over him to take it in his mouth.

Ronan cried out.  The noise must have urged Kavinsky on, because he attended to Ronan with renewed vigor.  _Oh my God._   Ronan thought.  _Holy Fuck.  Oh my God_.  Things were starting to look fuzzy.  He couldn’t focus on anything other than the feeling of Kavinsky’s tongue on him.  And just as he thought he was getting close to finally falling over the edge, Kavinsky backed away from him.

“Not, so fast Lynch.”

Ronan felt like he might die.  But then Kavinsky was up on his knees, pulling off his shirt and pressing his stomach against the back seat.  With one hand he grabbed Ronan, stroking him and pulling him behind him.  Everything in Ronan’s body was hot and tight with urgency.  Waves of heat rolled over him like lava over stone, and his mind was blissfully blank.  He came up behind Kavinsky and kissed the back of his neck, wrapping his hands around his waist.  Kavinsky spit on his hand and rubbed it over Ronan. 

“Now.”  Kavinsky, sounded wrecked with need.  “Hurry.”

Ronan felt it too.  Needed it too, but he asked, “Are you…”

But then there was nothing, because Kavinsky leaned back against him, his hand holding Ronan right over the place where he needed him, and pressing down.  Ronan groaned, and when he got his mind back, took over.  Very slowly, he eased himself into Kavinsky, waiting for him to relax around him.  When Kavinsky told him to move, he did, slowly at first, dying each time he sheathed himself.  Kavinsky shuttered against him, panting and cursing the world.  Ronan’s pace quickened.  They clutched at each other and moved in timeless rhythm.

Ronan was lost, lost, lost. There was only sensation and nothingness and a boy; a smooth, wild, unimaginable sexy boy.   And Ronan hoped that maybe he could be the kind of person that didn’t care about the world either.

Then he crashed; feeling Kavinsky orgasm around him, the thrill of it pushed him over the edge as well.  Tenderly, they separated, panting and shaking and coming back into their bodies.  Kavinsky started laughing.  Ronan didn’t care for it.

He needed air.  His skin was too hot.  He fell out of the car and let himself lay on the damp dark grass and caught his breathing.

Kavinsky crawled out after him looking smug. 

“I knew it, Lynch.  I could see you.”

“Well,” Ronan said, still trembling a little.  “Good for fucking you.”

But then his body started to tense.  Something sickening was now coursing through his veins.  He got very cold.

“What’s happening?” Ronan asked.  Trying not to sound worried.

Kavinsky’s face fell.  “The drink.  You’re coming down.”

“What!  What the fuck does that mean?”  Ronan found he was having trouble trying to get back up.  He fell back on his back, ungracefully.

Kavinsky wouldn’t look at him.  He just shook his head, frowning and looking away.

“KAVINSKY!  WHAT THE FUCK!”  Ronan roared.

“You're, fine!  Don’t be such a pussy, Ok?  It just a drink I make for myself sometimes, lowers my anxiety levels, also, sometimes, gets me real fucked up.  I DIDN’T MAKE YOU TAKE TWO FUCKING GULPS, MAN!”  He kicked at Ronan’s foot.  “Also, you might not remember any of this.”

“WHAT?”  Ronan hissed. 

His vision was starting to blur, and now he couldn’t lift his head.  He was fighting against passing out. 

_________________________________________________________________________

Kavinsky watched as Ronan’s eyes glazed over, and then finally closed.  He cursed himself, and ripped at his hair and face, and clenched his fist so hard, little moon shaped cuts speared in him palms.   Finally, he settled himself behind Ronan to keep watch.  After about an hour Ronan woke up.  He still couldn’t move.  That would wear off soon enough though. What would he say?  Would he remember? 

No, of course he wouldn’t.

**The next week.**

Ronan had remembered, and he was almost killing himself, trying not to.  Was he angry?  Was he sad?  He had no idea how he felt about what happened that night.  But he hadn’t gone out looking for a race since.  How could he ever, now?  It had been days, and his body itched pleasurably at the memory.  Part of him hated that it was Kavinsky, but another part of him, the honest part, understood.  No matter how much he wished it away, they shared something.  In some ways, they were the same.  Both angry, both wanting to escape, both desperate for something physical and draining. 

It had been days, and no matter how hard he tried, he wanted….more. He wanted Kavinsky.  It was all he could think about.  Even his normal distractions were not able to hold his mind at bay now.  Also, he was starting to look like shit.  Even Blue had noticed.  Gansey was basically mothering over him like a worried hen.  Adam said nothing - better that way.  Then Ronan decided how he would handle this.  He couldn’t _be_ with Kavinsky.  Not really.  They both knew that, but he also couldn’t ignore him.  So that night he slept.  He slept with intent.  When he opened his eyes, he was in the field again, their field.  And Kavinsky was already there waiting for him. 

“Are you real?”  Ronan asked?  He didn’t know if it was dream Kavinsky or real Kavinsky.

“About fucking time!” was all Ronan got as a reply.  Kavinsky strode up to him, pulling him in to a crushing kiss, and Ronan let himself be swept away.

“Only here.”  Ronan whispered in his ear.

“It won’t be enough.  It won’t ever be enough.”  Kavinsky said, pulling off Ronan’s shirt.

“For now, at least” Ronan bargained.

“For now.”  Kavinsky agreed. 

**Author's Note:**

> I am aware that some people may read this as a date-rape thing, but I want to assure you that it IS NOT! That is not cool or sexy or anything, so let me clarify what I wrote this "drink" as. I see Kavinsky as a character who tries to outrun his problems with substance abuse...we see that in the books. But after a while, he gets used to the drugs and the alcohol, and its just not letting him forget like it used to, so much use has built up his tolerance... so he dreams up something stronger - something that at first kicked him off his ass, but just like anything else that he used, he eventually got somewhat accustomed to it. It's still strong as hell though. It loosens him up, helps him lock away his demons, his depression or rage or anxiety, and basically allows him to just function in the life he's living. Yes, he does offer a sip to Ronan, but because of how fucking strong it is, he thought Ronan was just going to take a sip...maybe even spit it out, no one else has ever actually swallowed that shit before. Kavinsky smiles when Ronan does manage to keep it down, because to him, that's conformation that they are alike....gives him the courage to finally make his move. Also, when Ronan tried to overindulge K takes the bottle away from him. He doesn't want Ronan to pass out tonight. He wants him with him. That's why I have Kavinsky stay with Ronan until he wakes up. I am NOT condoning any of these practices, but like I said, we already know that both Ronan and Kavinsky indulge in illegal substances, so I felt this was something that could, in an AU be plausible. Thanks for reading!


End file.
